


Happy Trails To You

by unrestedjade



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Gen, Implied Terminal Illness, implied future death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestedjade/pseuds/unrestedjade
Summary: For its-smokey-quartz, who wanted a fic about Wander dying. I live to serve, you monster.Warnings: terminal illness, death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For its-smokey-quartz, who wanted a fic about Wander dying. I live to serve, you monster.  
> Warnings: terminal illness, death.

Wander woke with his hands still loosely clutching his banjo. He didn’t recall falling asleep, and he sure as shooting didn’t feel rested. He seldom did anymore.

 

Nor did he know how long he’d slept for. This planet had a two-hundred-hour day, and they’d stopped to make camp only three times since sunrise. The sky was bright as ever.

 

Stretching leaden limbs, Wander contemplated getting up to start breakfast. Not so long ago he’d be on his feet nearly before his eyes were properly open. These days he had to plan, budget his energy. He fussed with the tuning pegs on the banjo and picked out slow arpeggios while he gathered the wherewithal to stand.

 

Slow. That’s mostly how he felt. He wasn’t sick, and nothing hurt– not yet, at any rate. He was just…slowing down. He wasn’t exactly young despite being young at heart, though he wasn’t old for his species, either. Well, young or old or somewhere in between, he supposed no one was made any guarantees or owed any more time than they were given. His own self included.

 

No one could kick around the universe forever. That was just nature, true as gravity and nuclear fusion and all the rest of it. Even stars died.

 

When he’d first noticed himself winding down and cottoned on to what that meant, he’d been awfully sad. Heck, he wasn’t thrilled about the notion of dying still. Wasn’t looking forward to it, or anything. But he’d had time to think it over and get his silly old brain around the idea.

 

When he looked back over his life (which took a fair bit of time and effort, with it being so long and eventful) he could say with all honesty there wasn’t much he’d change, and even what little he would change had probably been for the best. After meditating on this and that and the other thing for a while, he was riding easier down this last handful of trails before he started on the last and greatest of all adventures.

 

He’d witnessed wondrous things and met beautiful, interesting people among the stars. He’d spread what light and love he could in his travels, and he’d received a thousandfold more in return. He knew how rare that good fortune was, and he was grateful for it.

 

Sylvia sighed in her sleep, her side heaving like a bellows at Wander’s back. Yep, he had a lot to be grateful for. He had more friends than he could ever say goodbye to, and some, like good old Syl, who’d become his family.

 

Strumming a calm, unhurried little ditty, Wander let himself relax against the warm solidity of his friend. He still had that heavy feeling clinging to him, and Sylvia tended to sleep in. No sense letting breakfast get cold waiting on her.

 

If the zbornak noticed him spending more time astride her back when he might normally walk, or that his banjo sang more mellow than it used to, she kept her thoughts to herself. Wander supposed he had to let her in on the situation soon. She’d only be offended at being sheltered from the truth. By grop, though, he wanted as many uncomplicated, happy days as they could both get. Time enough to be sad, by and by. No sense rushing for it.

 

The pattern of Sylvia’s breathing changed, and one eyelid cracked to peer up at him as he played. Her voice was scratchy with sleep. “What’s up, buddy?”

 

Wander shrugged, smiling broadly. “Thought I’d get up to watch the sunrise,” he said, not pausing in his strumming, “but I’m three days late.”

 

“Or thirteen days early.” Sylvia eye twinkled with her grin.

 

“Did I wake you?”

 

“No, don’t worry. It’s bright, is all.” Sylvia yawned. “Gonna get up once I’m done snoozing,” she said as Wander obligingly settled his hat on her head to shade her eyes. Truth be told, he wasn’t ready to be up and about just yet, either.

 

She was quiet for a few minutes while he played. He assumed she’d dozed off again, but her ears twitched, and she said, “I like that tune.”

 

“Thank you kindly, Syl,” Wander said, putting a fancy roll on the next measure just for the fun of it.

 

“One of yours?”

 

Wander shook his head, then recalled that she couldn’t see him past the brim of the hat. “Nope. Older than me.”

 

Sylvia chuckled. “Must be old, then.”

 

“Yep.” Wander let his eyes drift closed to better focus on the music. Well, and because he was feeling a touch dozy himself.

 

A shadow fell across his face.

 

“Wander.”

 

Wander opened his eyes to find Sylvia looking down her long snoot at him. Her face was stern even if the addition of his hat undercut her natural zbornak toughness.

 

“Yeah, Syl?”

 

Sylvia’s nostrils quivered as though testing the air. “Are you okay?”

 

Without missing a beat in song or conversation, Wander answered, “Sure am. I’m just right as rain with you and me and the warm sunshine.”

 

Tension easing from the arch of her neck, Sylvia breathed deep, making Wander briefly sit up straight on the inhale. “You’d let me know if you weren’t, right?”

 

Now his fingers coasted to a halt on the strings. Wander looked her in the eyes, and felt a wormy squiggle of guilt shimmying through his guttyworks. “I will, Sylvia.” And just like that, he knew the timer was swiftly ticking down on what was left of those uncomplicated days.

 

Satisfied with his answer, Sylvia laid her head back down, covering her nose with the tufted end of her tail. “Good,” she said, voice drowsy-fuzzed. “I’m always here for you, buddy.”

 

Wander resumed his playing, though his fingers weren’t as nimble as they’d been previous. “Let me know when you’re getting hungry,” he said, but she was already fast asleep again, snoring in a passable counterpoint rhythm with the twang of the banjo.

 

Today. Grop, he’d have to tell her today. Well, maybe it was best to have it done and over with.

 

For right now, though, he let her snooze. On their own, his fingers picked out an old, half-remembered lullaby.


End file.
